Phocian Lament
by cillabub
Summary: Pylades's thoughts about Orestes, right before they begin the quest to kill Clytemnestra. **slashy**


What should I do? What can I do?

How did I end up in this position? By the gods, I'm a prince of Phocis! Princes have no troubles, everyone knows that. Then why am I crushed into such an unenviable situation?

Orestes told me today that he was leaving. Leaving our home, our Phocis, our paradise, to travel to the savage place of his birth and avenge the crime committed before I was even born. He broke my heart, telling me that. It must be understood, of course, that he's been my sole companion for as long as I can remember…He is six years my senior, and has always cared for me as a brother. I still remember our afternoons in the orchards, climbing the trees, dashing through the fountains, lying stretched out on the soft grass in the glare of the lazy, scorching sun. I remember the way his skin would burn, and the way our nurse would scold him for staying outside so long. My skin never burned; it always browned, forming a tight, tawny covering for my scrawny child's body. It was then that he would laugh, and tell me that I resembled the wild, dark Persian marauders of the north, and I would smile, because I knew that he admired my golden skin, wishing he had it, rather than his own fair complexion. Of course, I knew also that I _did_ look like a Persian pirate. I have always had that skin, and the dark curls that fly loose and wild on my shoulders, and these eyes, large, with a touch of madness lurking behind their calm black depths.

He was already growing and changing when I was still that skinny boy. I would watch him lying naked on the broad, flat rocks by the riverbank after we had spent the morning trying to push each other in. He was growing tall, his form filling out; even as we had these swimming sessions, I became more and more aware of his dawning masculinity, of the curve of his muscles and the golden hair spreading over his body. He was becoming beautiful, his body flawless and sturdy and slender, while I remained a clumsy child, with large feet and knobby knees. I was jealous, yet entranced at the same time. He fascinated me; would I grow up to be just as graceful, just as gorgeous? He would speak with me sometimes, about things of the future that worried him, about the strange sensations and needs one felt at such a tender age, even about the delicate subject of women, for whom he seemed to hold an odd distrust. Perhaps this was owing to the indelible mark his mother's sins had carved upon his consciousness. And now, finally, it is that whore's sin which has taken Orestes from me.

He calls it vengeance; I call it madness. One cannot simply stroll into the Mycenean palace and murder one's own mother in cold blood. I cannot bear to imagine my Orestes as this terrible executioner. By Zeus, this was the boy I'd grown up with, the boy who'd helped me with my mathematics, the boy with whom I'd discussed my first experience with a girl! He and I have been two halves of a whole for a decade and a half, and I cannot see my life without him in it. I don't _want_ to see it without him in it.

He embraced me, kissed my cheek, told me that he was leaving home for Argos. It was all so quick, so simple, and within the space of a breath, my world was shattered. I gasped out my question to him: why? In the name of the gods, why? It was utter foolishness to stalk Clytemnestra like prey, when he could live out his life happily with me, here in Phocis. _I_ loved him, she no longer did. Why then was he leaving me behind?

I cried, I begged him not to go, or at least to let me come with him, but he gently pushed me away. Now I'm here in the orchards again, crying to myself, and wondering what I am going to do. It would not be a complicated decision under other circumstances, but seeing that I have come to a difficult revelation, I am at a loss.

I think I began to understand a few years ago, once I had begun my awkward transition into adulthood. I began to suddenly realize that not only was he handsome, but that he also had a crackling sensual energy that surrounded him like a haze, blurring my vision. I had lived so many years by his side, as his brother, sharing everything with him, and now, all I wanted was to share the most intimate bond with him. He never knew of it, or he never acted as if he knew; he had his women when he pleased, and his men. He never asked me to be his.

And now, I understand. I see the extent of my love for him, and it frightens me. Perhaps he saw it too, and it frightened him. Whatever the situation, I refuse to be alone now. I will follow him down to Hades and back again, without even trembling before the awful Cerberus. I'll hold his hand, and my fear will vanish. And whatever befalls us, I'll die defending him, if nothing else. 


End file.
